Goodbye
by seaweedfma
Summary: He thought he would be used to saying goodbye by now- but it never gets easier. Roy Mustang x Riza Hawkeye, appearance by Jean Havoc. Rated T for character death. It was written between manga chapters 100 and 101. Now slightly AU because of later chapters


Title: Goodbye  
Author: Seaweed_FMA  
Rating: PG-13 for some language and talk of death.  
Characters: Mustang x Hawkeye, with an appearance by Havoc.  
Warnings: Set after chapter 100. AU since it was written before chapter 101 came out.  
Word count: About 1920.  
Summary: He thought he would be used to saying goodbye by now- but it never gets easier.

Disclaimer: This was written between chapter 100 and chapter 101 in the manga, so obviously we know now this isn't not it turns out, but it is an interesting "what if?".

This was supposed to be a drabble for gretchen8642, for the prompt Mustang x Hawkeye she died right in front of his eyes. But it took on a life of it's own and became... this.

"Lieutenant!"

He awoke with a start, his heart racing, his lungs gasping for air, sweat plastering his black hair to his forehead.

He didn't even remember how he got to his bed, and he wasn't sure how long he had been there although he wasn't convinced that he could call the nightmare ridden moments that he had spent tossing and turning 'sleep' at all.

"Lieutenant!"

That one word- it stayed burned into his brain like a snap from his fingers. It was the last word she had ever heard. The last thing he had ever told her.

And he didn't even call her by her name.

Roy looked over to the alarm clock on his bed stand. It was almost 5 am. He was going to have to wake up soon anyway, and with the prospect of nightmares looming, sleep was not a desirable option.

As Roy pulled the sweat-drenched covers off of him, the reality of what was going to happen in a few hours hit him. It was all happening again, and once again he was helpless to do anything about it.

He remembered last time- the nightmares and sleepless nights- when his best friend was taken from him. He woke up the morning of the funeral, broken and reeling.

And it happened again.

He couldn't save them, either of them- his best friend or his lieutenant- his protector or his bodyguard- his brother or his lover.

A wave of nausea rolled over him and he scrambled to the bathroom, already retching as he hovered his head over the toilet seat. He hadn't even eaten, but the bile rose, burned his throat, came spewing from between teeth that already felt fuzzy and dirty.

He retched until he had nothing left, then the dry heaves came- worse than actually throwing up, because there was nothing but muscle contractions and sickly noises.

Roy finally sat up once, but his head swam and his stomach lurched and he was back in front of the toilet again.

He wasn't sure how long it took him before he could raise his head without feeling the need to empty a stomach that had long since stopped producing anything to expel- he wasn't sure that he really cared how long it had been, except that there was no way he was going to miss it... miss....

He couldn't even bring himself to say it.

Her funeral.

Somehow, Roy rose enough on his wobbly knees to flush the toilet and stumble back into the bedroom. He wanted nothing more than to sleep for a lifetime or two, but he already saw the sun starting to peek over the horizon from his window, bathing his room in a beautiful golden light.

Golden, like her hair.

His knees gave out from under him, and he collapsed to the floor, hot tears forming from the corners of his eyes. Tears came unbidden and unwanted, burning trails down his cheeks and dripping down into the carpet.

"Riza... Riza..." He couldn't even recognize his own voice- low and harsh and broken.

Broken like him.

He stayed on his hands and knees long after the tears had dried and he had nothing else to give, long after his emotions had been leeched from him, leaving a hollow husk- a shell of a man behind.

A light knock on the door brought him back to his senses. Somehow he had fallen asleep again, this time on the floor, curled up in the fetal position.

He was somehow able to get to his feet and stumble to the door right at the person behind it knocked again impatiently, filling him with righteous fury. Whoever it was had better had a fucking good reason to be here, or they were going to find the other end of his snapping fingers.

Roy even took the extra moment to put on one pyrotex glove he always kept at the doorway before opening the door, his fingers in the snapping position.

"Um... good morning, sir... It's almost time to go...." Jean Havoc looked like he was about to piss himself when he saw the man who answered the door, seething anger written on his face, his fingers shifting back and forth enough to lift tiny sparks into the air around him.

After a moment, recognition struck him, and he lowered his hand. "Oh, yes... Havoc." he couldn't bring himself to say his rank... say.. *THAT* word.

"Sir, you really can't go dressed like that. I am glad I came early. I had a feeling this might happen." He gave Roy a soft, sad smile and let himself in and closed the door behind him, when it was apparent that Roy was not going to say or do anything else.

"Sir, we need to get you into the shower and get some clean clothes. It looks like you slept in your dress blues..." Jean really had no idea how he was going to do this. Roy still hadn't moved from the doorway.

"Uh, Colonel Mustang, sir?"

"Yes. A shower." He said, distractedly, like he had just woken from a dream. He finally moved away from the door and headed back to his bedroom, Jean close on his heels.

"Let's put some clothes out first, okay, sir?" While Roy stood in the middle of the bedroom, looking every bit like a lost puppy who didn't know where he was or what he should do, Jean went into the man's closet and pulled out a fresh set of dress blues- including the hat, black sash, and formal long coat that were only used for ceremonies...

And funerals.

"Sir... Do you think you can take a shower?" Jean desperately hoped that the answer would be yes, because he had no idea what he was going to do otherwise.

When there was no answer forthcoming, Jean knew there were only two options, to try to get Roy dressed without taking a shower, or force him into the shower himself, which scared Jean more than anything else, considering Roy had never taken off his glove, and he was still absently rubbing the material hard enough to make sparks and watching them like this was the first time he had ever seen such a miraculous thing happen.

Jean laid the clothes out gently on the bed, then went over to Roy, gently holding the man's wrist in his large, calloused hands. Roy had no reaction at first, like he didn't even notice that anything was happening. Quickly, Jean used his other hand to jerk the glove off right as Roy seemed to come to his  
senses enough to realize something was wrong and jerk his hand away.

"Okay, sir, let's get you in the shower, okay?" Jean felt like he was talking to a petulant 5 year old who didn't want to do what his parents ordered him to do.

"Shower." Roy parroted, his voice flat, void of any emotion.

"Yeah, shower. Come on, Colonel." He had no idea why, but for some reason, the mention of his rank brought him back to reality long enough for Jean to gently lead him into the bathroom.

The blonde turned on the water and got the water to what he figured was a decent temperature, then turned back to Roy, who once again was standing stock still, his eyes about a million miles away.

Jean groaned and rolled his eyes. He had no idea how to do this, so he unbuttoned the alchemist's jacket and pulled it off his thin shoulders- showing a lithe frame that was starting to lean more towards gaunt and underfed.

"Can you do the rest, sir?" Jean asked, setting his jacket on the closed toilet lid. But there was no answer. "Colonel?" Still no answer.

"Damn it, sir. I can't do this for you. Please, help me." He started to undo the buttons of the periwinkle blue shirt that Roy always wore under his dress blues. He pulled that off as well, revealing skin pockmarked with scars and imperfections. Jean had never seen his Colonel without his shirt, and it  
surprised him how many physical scars the man had.

But even with all of those, he knew the emotional scars were much, much worse.

"Sir... look, I took off your shirt, but I refuse to do any more. Please sir, we don't have much time." He nervously glanced at his watch, alarmed at how late it had already become.

"Fuck." Jean muttered under his breath. He didn't have time for this. He practically shoved Roy down onto the closed toilet lid. He kneeled in front of the man and pulled off his boots and his socks. "You slept in these too?" He said to a man who he was fairly sure didn't even hear him any more.

Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc knew what he had to do- it was the last thing he ever wanted to do, the last thing he would have ever thought he had to do. He pulled his Colonel's pants down, and in one quick motion pulled him up and shoved him into the hot shower, trying to keep his eyes above he man's neckline.

"What the fuck.." Roy sputtered, the water waking him out of whatever trance he had been in for the last 10 minutes.

"Please, sir. Hurry up. Wash up, we need to go.. NOW."

Roy knew he should care that he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts that were now soaked and clinging desperately to his skin- and that his Second... his... subordinate (don't say that word, don't fucking say it!) had practically seen him naked. But somehow, he just didn't feel like caring any more. He had no more of himself to give.

Like an automaton, he went through his normal washing procedures and turned off the water when he had finished. "Here." Jean said, looking the other direction as he handed Roy a towel.

Roy dried himself off, then stepped past the blond and walked into the bedroom, where surprisingly his clothes were already laid out for him. He didn't remember laying them out. Hadn't he slept there last night? How did the clothes get there?

He shrugged, figuring that it wasn't important. With the towel still wrapped around his slender hips, he pulled the soaked boxers down and retrieved a fresh pair, then proceeded to get dressed, slowly, deliberately. He knew that he couldn't put off the inevitable, but his cold, trembling fingers wouldn't let him move any faster.

Jean came back in from smoking a cigarette as Roy was finishing up, the smell of tobacco and ash preceding the tall man walking through the door frame. "You ready, sir?"

He wanted to say no, he would never be ready, that he didn't want to go, that he couldn't go. But he quietly gave a curt nod. Jean walked over and straightened the black sash and the hat. "Okay, let's go, sir."

Once again Roy nodded. As they were leaving, he paused at the front door, his eyes raising up to the sky. It was a beautiful day. A few light, puffy clouds were languishing across the sky. It was a day that Hawkeye would have loved.

To his credit, Jean let him stand for a while, his mind a million miles away- at least until he looked at his watch and gently laid a large hand on his Colonel's shoulder.

"Come on, sir. It's time."

It's time. It's time to put his love to rest.


End file.
